


Let The Tears Fall Down Like Rain

by Cozy_coffee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: comment_fic, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Sad Sam, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-09
Updated: 2011-12-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 12:30:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4522017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cozy_coffee/pseuds/Cozy_coffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill for the comment_fic prompt; Supernatural, Sam/Dean- Sam is diagnosed with clinical depression</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let The Tears Fall Down Like Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [klutzy_girl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/klutzy_girl/gifts).



Sam has always been strong and able to pick himself back up after the world knocked him down. Ever since he was young, he was a big boy—and big boys do not cry. He never cried during long car rides when he was cramped in the backseat with his big brother. He never threw a temper-tantrum when dad past by the ice-cream shop on a hot summer day. Not once did he cry when he fell down and scraped his knee. 

Sam use to be strong. He is not anymore. His world is not as bright as it once was, if it ever was sparkling. Darkness has always been his friends, the monsters and devils lurking in the shadows, but somehow this is different. Sam use to wake up gasping for air after a nightmare, his shirt soaked through with sweat and clinging to sun kissed skin. However, he doesn’t dream these days because he hardly sleeps. The hurt and sadness leaves him dreamless. 

Dean runs his fingertips slowly over Sam’s soft cheek, before he leans in close and kisses his warm skin. Sam blinks wet tears, but he does not stay a word...he has not spoken in a very long time. His cheeks are wet with tears and his expression saddens, his sun kissed skin now pale while his once muscular body is thin and fragile. 

This was not the man Dean knew--this was a hollow husk filled with pain and lonely, grief. The boy who worshiped him and followed him around, studying him and trying to be just like him, had become still and silent, no longer a bundle of bouncing energy or a radiant smile that made his dimples twinkle. 

It broke Dean’s heart to see Sam so shattered; that was his baby brother, the man he had protected and kept safe all his life. That was also the boy who he had raised, seeing to it that Sam was always dressed and fed, and taken care of. He had always saved Sam, but this time, he was fighting an ill evil he could not seem to win. 

Hunting was a dangerous gig. Injuries were part of the job description. Cuts, bruises, broken bones…those were just a few of the wounds the Winchesters had suffered over the years. But this wound was not on the body, but the soul; twisted and mangled in the mind, a deep, longing sadness that could not be cured with kisses or hugs. 

Sam doesn’t get out of bed anymore. He doesn’t speak, or hunt. Doesn’t show those beautiful dimples when he smiles. He once laughed, giggled even, like a carefree child, a long time ago. Now he is silent, and doesn’t speak.

Dean is hanging on by a thread with every day he watches Sam slip farther away; he could not lose Sam. He needed Sam here with him, talking and smiling, and laughing. He needed him responsive, put together. He thought Sam could just be happy, just smile and be in a good mood, but depression doesn’t work that way. It is not something you just ‘get over’. It is a hurt that sticks with you day and night, a pain that makes you wish to end your life for the chance at peace because death is so much simpler then living with this ache. 

Sam lies in bed, eyes glassy with tears. Dean, broken hearted and feeling useless, climbs into bed with his brother and presses kisses to his forehead, on his soft lips, and his cheeks, cuddling Sam in the warmth of his loving embrace. Sam doesn’t show any reaction. Doesn’t laugh or smile, doesn’t cuddle closer. He remains motionless, trapped in a time of broken hearts and tears. 

All youngsters dream of happily ever after and riding off into a beautiful sunset with their soul mate, living in a castle and going to festive gatherings with the delight of music and dance and tables filled with yummy, sweet treats. The thought of prancing around the room while playing a flute to a tune of merrily song lifts up their sprits high. 

Once upon a time Sam had dreams of happily ever after. When he was younger, he envisioned living in emerald city—a land of perfection spent with his family--not just Dean and Dad, but with Mary too, a happy home sweet home before the fire darkened his world. He thought his life would be sparkling as brightly as a pair of ruby red shoes. 

Today, so many heartbreaking years later, there is no yellow brick road to follow to happiness; no rainbow of beautiful color to light the way. The dark days have faded to black with ash in his lungs from too many cigarettes. The whiskey trickling down his throat doesn’t burn anymore nor numb the pain of his past sins. His future is bleak. There was once a promise of better days, yet now, there is only the promise of sorrow and tears. 

It’s been six months since Jessica died. Six months of hurt and tears and nightmares where he wakes up calling her name in the middle of the night. Jessica was gone, and it was his fault. His sin; his secret that got her killed. 

Dean tries to assure Sam that he is not to blame. “It wasn't your fault. If you wanna blame something, then blame the thing that killed her. Or hell, why don't you take a swing at me? I mean I'm the one that dragged you away from her in the first place.” 

Sam doesn’t blame his brother. Dean is not at fault. This is a black stain on his soul. The demon may have done the deed, but he could have stopped it and saved Jessica. Months before the fire Sam saw her in his dreams, screaming and burning, pleading for him to save her. He did nothing to rescue her because he was so desperate to be normal and to believe the visions were only dreams. 

He needs to be punished. He harms his frail body, cut by bloody slice, the razor sharp edge slashing through slim skin. Every time he bleeds he is reminded of the day he met Jessica--the last time he was truly happy. She sat one table down from him, smelling sweet like cherries and honey, and she paid him no attention until he slit his finger on the edge of a page. 

He hissed as blood blossomed from a small paper cut on his index finger, and she did not even think twice about reacting; Jess pulled out a pink band aid from her knapsack and walked over, took his hand and gently wrapped the band aid around his finger. She was even so kind as to press a tender kiss to his finger, giving him a fond smile before she walked away. That was Jessica, soft-spoken, tender, and caring, sweetly kind and compassionate. She did not deserve the horror that befell her. 

Sam is the man with a several cuts on his wrist and thighs—he is the man who shouts out her name amidst the dark night, sobbing as he reaches out in a desperate attempt to catch her before the flares engulf her. Precise cuts on his wrists are hidden under his baggy Hoodie he wears while a wounded heart is stitched together with twine. Dean tries to comfort him; his brother holds him at night when he awakens from the terror of anguish memories. Dean kisses him and tries to soothe away the distress, but Sam curls tight into a ball after pushing him away, refuses the shelter of comfort. 

The pain gets worse as time goes on; his heart is heavy as a ton of bricks and he is so exhausted that he's struggling to keep his eyes open and his head up. Keep calm and carry on; that is what he tries to do, but every day gets harder and harder for him to see the light in the dark. Most days the depression exhausted him to the point he cannot make his body move to get outta bed. He doesn’t sleep much, if at all, barely eats, doesn’t move away from the bed he curls up in. 

Dean stands by as his brother descends into the dark world, feeling useless and impotent in a way he’s never felt before. He has always been able to help Sammy, yet now he lingers by as his brother slips away. He is not good with words, and what do you say in a time like this? What could he possible promise that would take away the pain twisting in his little brother's heart? He cannot speak--he has no words to make it right. Still he tries to comfort Sam, even when his brother tries to push him away he holds on tight and refuses to let Sam go. 

It is a tiny struggle; Sam is too weak and exhausted to shove Dean away this time. He curls up in Dean's arms, tucking his fragile frame against Dean's body and trying to shy away from a dark world. Dean cradles his brother and rocks him gently, wiping the tears away with his thumbs and softly combing his fingers through Sam's shaggy hair. Sam’s eyes are red and puffy as he closes them tight as if to try and keep out the bad thoughts as Dean presses a kiss to his forehead. Sam falls asleep in Dean's arms, and the rest is soothing and peaceful, but it is short lived. 

The next night the visions return, haunting him with the wailing screams of his beloved dying. 

Sam is out of control, drinking and pill popping, harming himself every chance Dean looks away. His body is etched with his pain and guilt, wrists and thighs scared pale white. When Dean discovers his brother’s secret, Sam cries as shame and hurt breaks his broken heart. He allows Dean to hold and kisses his scars, sobbing while Dean presses soft lips gently to the pale, scared skin, and when his big brother promises that everything will be okay, he almost believes it. 

♥ END ♥

**Author's Note:**

> [Written for this prompt!](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/298958.html?thread=55506126#t55506126)


End file.
